TRIALS OF DAVID SAN ANTONIO SPURS CENTER AND BORN AGAIN CHRISTIAN DAVID ROBINSON IS TRYING TO LEAD HIS TEAM TO AN NBA TITLE AND REMAIN PURE IN A WORLD BESET BY THE SEVEN DEADLY SINS

The Silver Dancers come onto the court during a timeout, andDavid Robinson does not watch. He sits at the end of the SanAntonio Spurs' bench with his perfect posture, drinking a cup ofwater, looking down at coach Bob Hill diagramming a play. TheSilver Dancers are the Spurs' version of the Laker Girls,choreographed for the maximum number of jiggles and pelvicthrusts. Their uniform tonight is hot pants and tight silvershirts. The predominant lyric in the heavy-beat music is "Dothat thing." Do that thing. Do that thing. Do that thing.

Do that thing?

No, David Robinson does not watch. No.

Assorted other Spurs, especially at the outer reaches of thehuddle, can be seen sneaking peeks, uh-huh, and second looks.Last season's Most Valuable Player somehow removes himself fromthis part of the show. He says he never looks at the SilverDancers. Not on purpose. He will not allow his mind to wanderdown the mildly carnal paths that are offered to the Alamodomecrowd of 23,883. Why open himself to the possibility of impurethoughts? Why look at this possible form of the devil, thesejiggling and wiggling bodies, these pretty young faces withmascara and eyeliner and lipstick? Why, if he is a Christian?

"Say you go to a strip club," Robinson says later. "Guys dothat. They say there's nothing wrong with it. Nothing happens.Maybe not. But if I'm sitting in a strip club, I'm puttingmyself in a bad situation. Something could happen. It's a baddoor to open up. That's why I don't do it."

The idea is that temptation should be avoided; the irony is thatRobinson works where he does. He sometimes seems a stranger inthe very environment he rules. While he earns more per game thananyone else on the floor, with his $66 million contract for thenext six years, and while he is playing as well this season ashe did last year as the MVP, he is conspicuous first as thestraightest arrow in a twisty, curvy neon world. From thenational anthem (during which he stands, braced at attention,while the rest of the Spurs fidget and rock) through theintroductions (during which he hurries onto the court and offbefore announcer Stan Kelly finishes gargling words fit for apotentate: "The man in the middle, 7'1" center, from the U.S.Naval Academy, the NBA's MVP, number 50, DayyyyyyyyvidRobinson!"), through the standing ovations (which he seldomacknowledges) and even through the game itself (which he playsin a stiff and fundamental fashion against the jukes and jivesand head fakes of the majority), he is different. Definitelydifferent.

His heart went to Jesus almost five years ago, he proudly notes,on "June 8, 1991, my second birthday," and yet he is caught inthis most secular of modern creations, professional sport, withits instant gratification and easy adulation and flowing beertaps. Money? It's paid for a rebound, for a jump shot, for asimple smile. Fame? Instant. Sex? Easy. Drugs? Certainlyavailable. Rock-and-roll? Every timeout.

The door that is open here can lead to a level of hedonism thatwasn't even invented when the Old Testament prophets went totheir typewriters, an expansion of ego that pharaohs couldn'thave imagined. Do something well, and it will be replayed on amegascreen, then shown later on the local news. Do somethingextremely well, and your picture eventually will be stitchedonto a 30-foot-tall banner and hung from the giant blueAlamodome curtain next to the banners for George Gervin andJames Silas, the two former Spurs whose numbers have beenretired. Thirty feet tall! Yes, that's me. Reason blurs. Hubriswalks hand in fleshy hand with self-indulgence.

"People read about things that professional athletes do,problems they have, and say, 'What happened to that guy?'"Robinson says. "Well, 90 percent of people placed in thissituation would be running into those same problems."

Better not to watch. Better not to listen.

He has felt himself taken by these NBA tides toward perdition,felt a loss of control. Nobody else might have noticed, but hedid. He has found the answer that works for him. He is aChristian.

The opponent every day and night on the schedule is sin. DavidRobinson versus sin. David Robinson versus all the seven deadlysins: pride, lust, greed, gluttony, sloth, anger and envy. Everyday. Every night. It is a never-ending season.

DAVID ROBINSON VERSUS PRIDE

He was not prepared for this NBA life. Maybe no one but thechildren of rock stars and Washington politicians could have hadany idea of what to expect, but Robinson was less prepared thanmost of the tall young men who rise from their seats on draftday in June, place team baseball caps on their heads and walk innewly purchased, routinely ill-fitting suits toward a grandfuture. He did not know he would receive around-the-clockattention.

"This league changes everyone who comes into it," Robinson's SanAntonio teammate Sean Elliott says. "I don't care who youare--you come here, you're going to change somehow. Usually it'snot a good change, either. David was no different from anyoneelse."

The typical NBA No. 1 draft choice at least has been through aminor league training program for stardom, starting as early asseventh or eighth grade. Taller, quicker, better than everyoneelse his age at playing this game, he has been romanced first byhigh school coaches, then taken to high-powered summer camps,then cheered in big-time college arenas. He has had experiencewith sycophants working in sync, boosters quick with compliments.

Robinson had little of this. He played only one year of highschool basketball, went to no camp, went to the Naval Academy asonly a 6'6", 175-pound future sailor. He never gave probasketball a thought. His sister, Kimberly, always said she wasgoing to be famous. She practiced signing her autograph so itwould look good when the moment came and people asked. He neverthought about that. He says he only wanted "a nice life."Whatever that was.

His circumstances changed forever when he grew seven incheswhile he was in college. Who would have figured that? It was asif he had won some bizarre biological lottery. His body grewmuch larger, but his coordination remained the same. Suddenly hecould do things on a basketball floor he never had imagined.Always faster than almost everyone else, now he was also biggerthan almost everyone else. "I didn't even notice how fast I wasgrowing," he says. "It just seemed that more and more peoplewere looking at me and saying, 'Man, you must play basketball.'"

One success led to another--the NBA was knocking at his door byhis senior year, making him the No. 1 draft choice in thecountry in 1987--but his environment still was quiet. At theNaval Academy he didn't have a car, didn't have any of the perksof the famous. He had to have permission to go see a movie. Hewas like everyone else. Quieter, in fact.

"Even when I graduated, I didn't go right into the NBA life," hesays. "I had my two-year service commitment, and I was living anormal life on a base. It was strange. I would go to NBAthings--go to the All-Star Game, for instance, where everyone wastreated special--then come back to the base, where guys weregoing to the supermarket with their families, working jobs,doing all the normal things that people do. I had a foot in bothworlds."

"Tell me one thing," he would say to his normal friends afterthese trips to the star scene. "Tell me if I ever change, if myhead ever starts to get bigger."

Two years into his career his head was getting bigger. Hisfriends didn't see it--no one said he was becoming a jerk--but hefelt it. He was hanging around with people who told him onlythings he wanted to hear, mostly how great he was. He easily wonthe NBA Rookie of the Year award in '90. He was an All-Staralready. He was rich. He was surely great. He believed that.

In a way.

"What surprised me was that I wasn't happy," he says. "Here Ihad everything I ever wanted--I had graduated from a good school,had a good family behind me, was doing things I never dreamedI'd do--and I wasn't happy at all. I looked at myself, and Ididn't like the person I was becoming. I felt I was soimportant. I had a selfishness and arrogance. It was that thing:'Oh, I'm 30 minutes late, but that doesn't matter, because theycan't start without me. I'm the one who counts.' I found myselfdoing that more and more, and there were people encouraging me."

He was neither a smoker nor a drinker, but he found himself inclubs on the road, vaguely searching for a "nice girl." (What'sa nice girl like you doing in a place like this?) He wantedmore, yet he had everything. So what was more? He didn't know.He had felt in college that he always was learning and growing.He felt in the NBA that he was regressing, forgetting lessons hehad learned.

Religion never had been a big part of his life. He had been anominal Christian, forced to go to church on Sunday by hismother, Freda, but he had never shown great interest in thefaith. He was cordial with Joe Sahl, the Spurs' chaplain, butnever paid much attention to him. When Greg Ball, a locker-roomevangelist from the group Champions for Christ, showed up,Robinson put him off for several months. Talk about Jesus? Talkabout the Bible? Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the day after. Ballpersisted.

"What do you want from me?" Robinson asked.

"Just some of your time," Ball said.

Their conversation was supposed to last a few minutes, but itstretched to five hours. Robinson always had been a tinkerer, agadget guy, interested in learning how to use the latestcomputer and programs. He had taught himself how to play severalmusical instruments in his spare time. His idea of reading forfun was to read a manual, to see how some product really worked.Ball handed him a Bible. He told Robinson it was "the manual forlife."

"His purpose, his life focus, wasn't established," Ball says."Here was this wonderful person, this superstar, but he wasunhappy. He was a god of his own life. All these guys in the NBAare gods of their own lives. I told him it doesn't matter if youget all the Ferraris and Mercedes that are made--if you don'thave a focus, you're still an empty Coke bottle rolling aroundthe backseat of a '57 Chevy. It's like you're standing in frontof a painted fire, trying to keep warm."

All this was new and exciting information to Robinson. The Biblewas a manual? He never had thought of this. He jumped into theBible as if it had been written by Bill Gates, describing thelatest Microsoft wonders. Robinson became, according to Ball, "asponge." He was so excited he called his younger brother, Chuck,to tell him the news. He was reading the Bible!

"David," Chuck replied, "you're scaring me."

A week after his conversation with Ball, Robinson was baptizedin a private ceremony. He had always had this dignified publicimage as the Admiral, but now he was able to wear it moreeasily. He had his foundation. He knew where he was going. Thesycophants still appeared, but he didn't listen. He was makinghis own judgments. "I'd always told myself I was a good guy, nomatter what I'd done," he says. "I think everybody tells himselfthat. I'm sure Jeffrey Dahmer, if you'd asked him, would havesaid, 'I might have done some bad things, but underneath, I'm agood guy.' The question is, whose definition of a good guy areyou using? Your own?"

He now had a different definition. He had found it in the manual.

DAVID ROBINSON VERSUS LUST

There was a woman involved in all of this. Her name was ValerieHoggatt, and she had been introduced to him by a friend in 1988,while he was in the Navy on temporary duty in Port Hueneme,Calif. David and Valerie dated for a couple of months, and whenhe returned to Kings Bay (Ga.) Naval Submarine Base, therelationship continued by long distance. She visited him. Hevisited her. She became his girlfriend. Now, in 1991, she washis ex-girlfriend.

"I had broken up with her," he says. "I told her that she lovedme too much. I said that I could never have the love for her,the passion for her, that she had for me. I had to find someoneI could love as much as she loved me."

There certainly were options. Handsome, with Popeye-sizedmuscles on public display, with his financial worth spreadacross the sports pages, he was an obvious attraction. Women hewould have considered too beautiful to ask for a date to thesenior prom were now chasing him. He didn't have to do a thing,didn't have to be sophisticated, warm, intelligent, loving,didn't even have to carry a conversation. This was anotheramazing thing about pro basketball life. "These are the womenyou've been looking at from a distance ... and now they'recalling your room," he says.

He met some of these women, had some dates. The dates werepleasant enough, but they seemed to add to his general lack offulfillment. He was with the most beautiful women on the planet.He still wasn't happy. What was the deal? After he foundreligion, his mind went back to Valerie.

How could he have said what he said to her? How could he haverejected her love so easily? He replayed their relationship inhis mind. It had been based entirely on her loving him. Hehadn't even tried to love her. His effort had been the minimum.Her effort had been the maximum. He hadn't even noticed. Howcould he have turned down that kind of love? "I called her andtold her how I'd been reading the Bible," he says. "She said shealso had been reading the Bible. We got back together. We readthe Bible together. She was the same sweet, wonderful person shehad been before and is now. I just hadn't been paying attention."

Three months later, in September 1991, he asked her to marryhim. She was stunned. It was the preseason, no time for ahoneymoon, a rush. He said he knew what he wanted and, just asimportant, what he didn't want. This was the time to start amarriage, start a family. He wanted a partner for life. Sheaccepted.

"Before, I was worried about a million things," he says. "I saidthat any woman I married would have to sign a prenuptialagreement. Now I didn't care about that. If my wife left thenext day, whatever money she got wouldn't matter to me at all.What would break my heart would be that she would be leaving amarriage put together by God. She would be rejecting God."

The honeymoon they missed they have taken at the end of everyseason since. Last year it was in Hawaii. Valerie and David nowhave two sons, David and Corey; a house in the exclusiveDominion section of San Antonio; and an off-season home inAspen, Colo. They plan to build a new, larger house in SanAntonio. "Everything changed so much for me," Robinson says. "Ihad all these doubts, didn't like who I was, and then I movedinto this storybook life."

He hears other men talking about "ways to get out of the house."He wonders at that. He says his approach is to find "ways to getback to the house." That is where his true life is. He hearsstories about the free-love life that he rejected and noticesthat often they are followed by postscripts about domesticabuse, paternity suits, divorce and sexually transmitteddiseases.

Sex sometimes seems to be everywhere. Robinson calls it "theoldest trick in the book, the naked lady offering an apple."Most television distresses him. What are these producersthinking? Where is their sense of responsibility? The Spurs'media guide lists each player's favorite movie. Robinson's isThe Little Mermaid.

"I made a rule when I got married," he says, talking about womenwho still come around to flirt. "I decided that if anyone'sfeelings are going to be hurt, they're not going to be mywife's. If I think someone is acting inappropriately, I say so.It may sound harsh, but that's the way it is. My wife is notgoing to be the one to suffer."

DAVID ROBINSON VERSUS GREED

If he were a bachelor, he would be one of the biggest catches ofall, because he is one of the highest-paid players in the NBA.That is another amazing thing. How did all of this money arrive?He is not a gun-to-the-head negotiator but rather a travelerwith the flow of market forces. Market forces have flowed verywell.

"I never wanted to be wealthy, just happy," he says. "I thinkI'm the luckiest guy in the world. If I was in this leaguemaking $250,000 a year, I'd still think I was the luckiest guyin the world. I hear guys who sit at the end of the bench gripeabout making $250,000. What are they talking about? They'restill in ... what, the top five percent of people in thiscountry? They have three months off every summer. What's theproblem? If I was making $250,000 to sit at the end of the benchand wave a towel, I'd be the best towel waver you ever saw."

When Robinson came out of the Naval Academy with two years toserve on active duty, his advisers found that he had a curiousadvantage. NBA regulations included a seldom-invoked "militaryclause." If a player drafted by the league had to serve militarytime before playing, he could reenter the draft when he returnedfrom the service if he had not previously signed a contract.This put the Spurs, who drafted Robinson as their obvious hopefor the future, in a bind. This gave Robinson substantialleverage.

"It was like working under a favored-nations clause," says LeeFentress, one of Robinson's agents at Advantage International."My partner, Jeff Austin, and I were flying down to San Antoniowhen I said, 'Let's try this and see what they say.'"

"This" was a clause that would be new to NBA contracts. Itstated that if two players in the NBA made more than Robinson,the average annual salaries of their long-term contracts wouldbe added together and then divided by two, and this would becomeRobinson's new salary. If the Spurs did not choose to match thatnumber, Robinson would become a free agent at the end of theseason. (The Spurs would, however, have the chance to matchwhatever offer Robinson received from another team.)

The Spurs management agreed, and the NBA ratified the deal inNovember 1987. ("David Stern since has told me that someone musthave been asleep the day it went through," Fentress says.) Whathappened was that every year a couple of new megadeals would bestruck by other players. The biggest money would be backloadedin each contract, so the average was more than the player wasmaking the first season. Robinson had to be paid more than theaverage, so each year his old contract would be ripped up, andhe would be paid a new salary, among the highest in the league.

"David's big worry during all this, believe it or not, was thatthe Spurs would invoke their option and he would become a freeagent," Fentress says. "He didn't want to leave San Antonio. Heand his wife had really gotten to like the place."

That worry disappeared quietly at the beginning of this season.With almost two years left on his contract Robinson signed a newsix-year deal for $66 million. There was little hoopla. Robinsoncould have made even more money if he had waited: MichaelJordan, Shaquille O'Neal and Alonzo Mourning will be free agentsat the end of this season. "But you should remember that this isa very, very good contract," Austin says. "It is the biggestcontract in the history of professional sports."

Oh, yes, the special clause was not part of this new contract.

DAVID ROBINSON VERSUS GLUTTONY

Despite these big contracts, he is not and probably never willbe the biggest money-earner in the NBA. He does not chase theendorsement dollar hard enough. Given a choice of doing acommercial for a week in New York City or staying home with hisfamily, he usually chooses to stay home. "He's the only guy I'veever told he should be doing more endorsements," Spurs coach BobHill says. "I tell him, 'David, you're the role model thisleague needs. You should be everywhere.' He says he just wantsto be with his family. This year he made an appearance on SesameStreet."

"You're away from home so much anyway in this league," Robinsonsays. "I mean, we played a game this season on Christmas. O.K.,we're off on New Year's because we can't compete with the bowlgames on TV, but there's a buck to be made, so we play onChristmas? Where are the priorities? This Christmas my wholefamily was in Aspen, having a great time ... everyone except me.They showed it to me on videotape."

He does endorse Nike shoes, Casio products, Franklin sportinggoods and Frito-Lay snacks, sticking to brands he likes andsituations that demand the least amount of his time. He foundthe perfect deal this year with Arrow shirts. The ads featurehis shirt, not him. He can be home while his shirt makes money.

Some of his endorsement money goes to the David RobinsonFoundation, which administers cash grants, provides game ticketsand gives items for auction to charities that serve young peoplein South Texas. Over the last four years the foundation hasgiven more than $1 million to these organizations. Robinson alsohas sponsored a fifth-grade class at San Antonio's GatesElementary School, vowing to provide a $2,000 scholarship forthe college education of every kid who wants one. That class hasnow reached the 10th grade.

The speeches Robinson makes are mostly to youth groups. He doesno autograph shows, but he signs forever for free. He writes hisname, No. 50 and a reference to a favorite Biblical verse. Onthe road he usually is the last Spur on the team bus, signingwhile his teammates snake past the crowd around him.

"It's a joke, the money that's available in this position,"Robinson says. "The things people want to give you--I can'tremember when I last paid for a set of golf clubs." He has alittle deal under which a San Antonio television stationcontributes money to his foundation every time he answers aletter from a kid on a filmed weekly segment called "DearDavid." Today's letter is from Raymond. He wants to know howfast Dave can dribble a basketball.

"Hi, Raymond," Robinson says into the camera with a smile. "Goodquestion. I say dribbling a basketball is like swimming with ashark chasing you. The closer the shark gets, the faster youswim. It's a grand chase. I dribble as fast as I have to." Twohundred bucks to the foundation. Just like that. It's a joke.

DAVID ROBINSON VERSUS SLOTH

He is just now learning the game of basketball. That might bethe most unsettling news about him, the biggest joke of all. Heis just now loving the game. He has made all this money, hasbeen named the best player in the game, and only now is hediscovering what it is all about. He is 30 years old and stillimproving.

"He didn't play a lot of basketball before he came to us," Spursgeneral manager Gregg Popovich says. "When he came here he wasan athletic phenomenon, not really a basketball player.Remember, one year of high school, four years at a college thatwasn't playing big games all the time--he did not have the samebasketball background as most NBA players. Never played all thattime on the playgrounds. You can still see it sometimes.Situations will arise where he looks awkward. He won't know whatto do. Those situations, though, are becoming fewer and fewer."

"I came into this league with almost no offense," Robinsonadmits. "I could use my height and speed to get away frompeople, and I could dunk. That was my offense."

He has worked to put together a package. He has a solid jumpshot. He has a strong drive from the left side. He has adance-studio drop step. He has bulked up to 250 pounds, headingtoward 275 to withstand the Shaquille O'Neals in the middle. Hepresses 325 pounds, good for a big man whose long arms force himto bring weights such a long way. He still is one of the fastestplayers and highest leapers on the Spurs.

The biggest changes probably have occurred in his head. He haslearned where to go, what to do, how to react to situations. Healso has acquired a passion for work. "I came here, I didn'thave that," he says. "Larry Brown, the coach then, used to yellat me, and I'd never react. I'd just sit there. I didn't knowwhat he wanted from me. It took me four years to become theplayer they expected me to be."

He has had five coaches in his six-plus seasons. He has hadcoaches who wanted defense from him, coaches who wanted offense,coaches who wanted rebounds. In Hill he finally has a coach whowants balance, the package. The package includes leadership. "Iused to have the idea that I just had to come here and take careof my job," Robinson says. "I thought that was what professionalbasketball was all about. I do my job. You do your job. If weall do our jobs, we win. I know now that I have to do more thanthat. My energy level fuels half the team. I tell these guysthat if you prepare yourself physically, you'll be able to dowell. If you don't, you won't."

A traditional knock against born-again athletes is that theydon't have a win-or-else passion for their games (I gave up thatgopher ball because it was God's will, not my mistake), butRobinson says his faith has helped him. He has realized thatplaying basketball is his gift. His duty is to make the most ofthis gift that he can.

"I'm not playing for the fans or the money, but to honor God,"he says. "I know my motivation. I know where I'm headed. Everynight I try to go out there to honor Him and play great."

"David is developing late," Popovich says. "Look how manyplayers led a team to an NBA title in their first six years.David's closest to Hakeem Olajuwon, who also developed late. Howmany years did it take Hakeem to win a title? Ten?"

Hakeem. Ah, Hakeem.

DAVID ROBINSON VERSUS ANGER

Any mention of Hakeem brings back bad memories of a year ago. Ifever there was a year in which Robinson might have grown grumpy,frustrated, flat-out mad, it was last year.

He won that MVP award, but almost before the press releasesannouncing it had been thrown into wastebaskets, Robinson andthe Spurs were out of the playoffs, bounced by Olajuwon and theeventual champion Houston Rockets. The best record in the NBA(the Spurs went 62-20 in the regular season), plus the MVPtrophy, were devalued in an instant.

"It felt like falling off a cliff," Robinson says. "To go fromsomething so high to something so low in such a short time." Hehad worked so hard through a chaotic, maddening season. That wasthe pity. Had any player in the league been asked to carry abigger load nightly? He was third in the league in scoring,fourth in blocked shots, seventh in rebounding, 15th in stealsand 15th in field goal percentage. He averaged almost 38 minutesper game, many of them playing next to Dennis Rodman. DennisRodman! If that wasn't a test of resisting anger, nothing is.

"Dennis was talking about David all season, complaining aboutall the money David makes," Hill says. "I was just waiting forDavid to turn around and kill him. But he never did."

The man of God and the tattooed hedonist with green hair. Thehumble and the outrageous. The conservative and the eccentric.Hill's wife, Pam, told him once that he was coaching a team fromthe Old Testament, with both the devil and God on the sameroster. It wasn't far from the truth. Robinson was an on-timeconstant. Rodman missed practices. Robinson did his job. Rodmanwas suspended. Robinson talked about the Lord. Rodman posed inhot pants, with a parrot on his hand, for ... well, for thecover of this magazine ... and talked about the idea of playingbasketball in the nude. "Every game was like The Ricki LakeShow," Hill says. "Here we had the MVP, and all everyone'stalking about is what Dennis was going to do. We, the coaches,were talking about it. We were having meetings trying toanticipate what crazy thing he would do next."

He says he never had problems with Rodman. He liked Rodman'senergy, his toughness. Rodman was a rallying point. What's thisguy going to do? Everyone on the team was watching him. Rodmancertainly could rebound. Robinson says he wondered about some ofthe things Rodman did but never disrespected him. "I hadconversations with him," Robinson says. "I guess they wereconversations. He listened. Dennis doesn't talk much. It's hardto keep conversations going with someone who doesn't talk much."

Robinson was much more bothered by the Spurs' playoff loss toHouston in six games than by anything Rodman did. The Spurs hadbeaten the Rockets five out of six times during the regularseason. The playoffs were a shock. Hill points out that theSpurs played Olajuwon man-to-man, while Houston double-teamedRobinson most of the time, and Robinson says that "anyone whothinks Hakeem Olajuwon won that series by himself is a fool,because he had a lot of help," but the easy story was thatHakeem beat the Admiral. The final numbers certainly said that.Robinson felt lower than he ever had as a player.

"I don't think there's any worse feeling for an athlete than tofeel inadequate," he says. "These are the times when you reallyhave to love the game, when you realize you were six games awayfrom a title, and now you have to start all over again. I juststayed at home for a few days. The kids give you perspective."

Now he is back. Rodman, of course, is gone, traded to theChicago Bulls for backup center Will Perdue. The Spurs arechugging along at close to last year's pace, with thesecond-best record in the Western Conference. Robinson also ischugging at close to the same pace.

He says he will be "very disappointed" if he does not win achampionship before he is finished. Is this the year? He wonderssometimes about the absence of Rodman, the absence of turmoil,wonders if without all that, the team's character is beingforged. The question will be answered in the playoffs. Hill saysthe Spurs are trying a new approach, "winning with a bunch ofBoy Scouts."

He describes the scene before a typical Spurs home game. Thelast thing the team does is stand in a circle in the center ofits locker room. The players hold hands and pray. Robinson leadsthe prayers sometimes. Point guard Avery Johnson, anotherevangelical Christian, leads other times, in a more feistymanner. One of Johnson's prayers, Hill recalls, involvedcomparisons of M.C. Hammer and other rap stars to the prophets,ending with the words, "and now we're going to throw that motherdown." Everyone cheered. "It was a moment," the coach says.

DAVID ROBINSON VERSUS ENVY

What is there for him to envy? "He took my wife and me on a tourof his house one night," Hill says. "This was a special thing.He's a very private person and doesn't bring a lot of people tohis house. The tour began with him sitting down at the piano andplaying a classical piece. I think it was Mozart. We wentthrough the whole house--he showed us how all his computersworked--and then, at the end, he took out a keyboard and playedsome jazz and rap. He's like a character in a fairy tale. Hedoesn't smoke, drink. He's a great husband, great father. He's agood golfer!"

"I didn't know him at all when I came here," Perdue says. "I'dplayed against him, but he never talks when he's playing. Iwondered about that. Was he stuck up? He can seem aloof, but Ithink that's because he's always thinking about so many things.When you get here and see how he is, how he acts, how can younot like him? He doesn't push anything on anyone, but you knowwhere he stands."

"He's different from how he was at the beginning," Elliott says."But he's still human. He used to swear like everyone else, andit still creeps out once in a while. He'll miss a putt and say,'Jeeeez.' We'll get all over him."

Those around him might disagree with his beliefs and his wordssometimes--one friend remembers tuning out conversations aboutAIDS, which Robinson has said is a plague sent by God, and aboutfires in California and floods in the Midwest, which he thoughtwere signs of God's wrath--but can there be disagreement with theway he lives his life? He walks through all the commercialhellfires that man has invented and comes out just fine. Heprospers.

His mother and father, Freda and Ambrose, live in San Antonioand help administer his foundation. They have just cowritten abook, How to Raise an MVP--Most Valuable Person and Player.David's brother, Chuck, also a Christian now, is in the AirForce in Mississippi and studying to become a minister.Kimberly, their sister, is in Virginia, studying for herdoctorate in adult education. David is in San Antonio, studyingto be the best basketball player he can be.

Would he want to be Michael Jordan?

"I don't understand what Michael's doing," Robinson says. "Whydid he come back? He has a beautiful wife and three kids. What'she trying to prove that he hasn't proved already? Is it thathe's the best we've ever seen? We know that. It seems to me he'sjust chasing his own tail. Why isn't he enjoying this time withhis family?"

Would Robinson want to be Charles Barkley?

"I love Charles to death," he says. "We've had many, many greatconversations. You can just see the goodness inside him. It justwants to come out. Sometimes, though, he just can't helphimself. He goes down that other path."

Is Robinson just happy to be himself?

"It's funny," he says. "I found the Lord, and since theneverything has been like a magic walk."

COLOR PHOTO: COVER PHOTOGRAPH BY PETER READ MILLER COVER PHOTO SAINT DAVID DAVID ROBINSON AND THE TEMPTATIONS OF NBA STARDOM